


Saved by a Sleepover

by Sinderlin



Category: OMORI (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-27 18:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinderlin/pseuds/Sinderlin
Summary: The Event is diverted by Sunny having a different, slightly earlier breakdown. Basil has some reassuring words and offers a temporary escape.Basil likes Sunny. A lot.Sunny refuses to let Basil give up his bed but he also refuses to sleep on the couch.
Relationships: Basil/Sunny (OMORI)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This'll be two short parts because that's just what I'm feelin for now. hell yea drabble time write however you feel like and about whatever you feel like folks, never feel guilty for how you enjoy your hobbies

It's the night before the recital. Mari wants to practice again, to get that one harmony just right, but Sunny can feel something creaking behind his jaws. Something is about to break, he can feel it. He wants it to be perfect too, he wants it to be just right, but he _can't_. He wants to throw his violin down the stairs and give up forever, tell her to do it by herself and never talk to him again, to accept his place as the disappointment kid brother. Something budding dark and vicious in his heart tells him to hurt her like she hurts him, barbed words and sharp nails. As Mari demands that he "do it again, but pay attention to the tempo", Sunny drops his violin in a fit of frustration and storms out of the house. If this keeps going, he's going to do something that he can't take back. He needs an escape. A refuge. The treehouse is too close, too obvious.

Sunny runs down the street, sneakers slapping on concrete, warm evening air on his skin, mailboxes flying by as he races faster than he ever had in gym. Mari yells something from the front step, probably about how he's a quitter and how he sucks and how she'll tell everyone he wimped out on their promise to do the recital together. His eyes burn. The lake. The lake is fine, it's safe, their friend group is the only one who goes there, and they leave toys and things there that he could use to pass the time and take his mind off things. He can hang out there until...until...

Mari immediately went into damage control. Sunny running away from home is dangerous. He could get hurt, he could get in trouble, what if something happened to him? Hero lived next door, she could get him to help her wrangle her kid brother. In turn, Hero recruited his kid brother Kel, who recruited Audrey and Basil. Understanding that while it was unlikely that Sunny was in any real danger or had gone too far, the group convened to designate search parties. All of them had some inkling of where Sunny had most likely gone, but Basil was the first to volunteer to search the park. Normally quiet and content to fade into the background, Basil felt the need to stand his ground and refuse any offered help, determined to go it alone. As much as Aubrey and Kel want to help, Sunny would probably feel overwhelmed and shut down if faced with too many people right now, and Basil managed to speak up first. Besides, Hero reminds them, there's still the mart and the school grounds to search! 

There are still a few people milling about in the park, but nobody gives Basil more than a passing glance as he jogs through to the gang's not-so-secret hideout: the lake. The trees and undergrowth are enough to hide it away from the main park, the little path unkept and forgotten by most, sticks snagging at his shoelaces even on the trail they'd kicked mostly clear. When he emerges from the copse of trees and peers beyond the faded road blocks he sees exactly what he expected: Sunny, hunched on the end of the peer. A little pile of sticks and pebbles beside him, plunked into the lake one by one. His shoulders raise at the dull sound of footsteps on grass, apprehensive.

"Sunny!" Basil calls out, not wanting to startle him when he steps onto the pier. Sunny's shoulders lower and sag. With the pile of sticks and pebbles between them, Basil sits on the rough old planks and dangles his feet over the water. "Mari's looking for you. Did something happen?" Sunny's face is blank as always, but radiates an air of misery. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He...doesn't know if he wants to talk about it. What could he say? Is it his fault, her fault, both? It's hard to put a name on what he's feeling or decide how he should act. All he could think to do was to run away so that he didn't...didn't what? It's stupid, he should be better than this, more mature. If he could just get the stupid tempo right then Mari wouldn't have yelled at him, but why couldn't she just leave it alone? He's just her dumb shitty kid brother who can't do anything right, not like her. The sticks make tiny splashes that ripple away when he throws them in, then bob back up to the surface for a few moments before they saturate and eventually disappear in the depths. The stones plop right in and disappear immediately.

"Is it about the recital?" Basil asks, picking up a stick with loose lichen-covered bark. Sunny thought it was, but maybe it isn't? Maybe it's just about Mari. Maybe it's about himself. Maybe it's about expectations. Maybe if he can't be the best, he's just the worst. Basil peels the bark off in little crack-crack-cracks, dropping the flakes onto the surface of the lake where they slowly spin and eventually sink. "I don't have an older sister--or any siblings, but I can kind of understand. Mari seems really sweet and cool, but she's a perfectionist. You don't have to feel guilty about not being perfect, we're just kids. We can't be perfect. Not even adults are perfect, you know? She's not perfect either." The inner bark of the stick is the same pale tan as the backs of Basil's hands, Sunny notices. The barkless stick doesn't float when Basil drops it in, like a stone. "I can talk to her for you if you want. I can tell her that you wanted to play for fun, and that you agreed to the recital because you wanted to do something with her and because you love her."

That sounds right. Mostly. Basil kind of gets it. Better than Mari does, anyway. Sunny's throat still feels knotted and dry, his eyes hot and unfocused and pointed in the direction of Basil's hands. They pick up a rock and rub away a lump of dirt before dropping it into the water, like it needed to be broken into component parts first.

"Sunny...do you even want to do the recital? You don't have to," Basil says softly.

He does, he wants to, but he'll let Mari down, he'll let himself down, he'll mess up so why even try, why do anything when it'll just be annoying and frustrating and disappointing for everyone. Sunny pulls his feet up onto the dock and crosses his arms over his knees, hiding his face in the dark space. Maybe he's just overwhelmed? Maybe he's scared. He's definitely _weird_. He can't cry even if he wants to. "I...dunno."

"If you decide to do it, I'll come to cheer you on," Basil reassures him, "And I can stay by you before and after to stop Mari if she tries to say anything mean?"

"Maybe," Sunny sighs, "It's a lot. It's..." He struggles to find the words, like wrestling an overstuffed suitcase to zip it shut, but not everything will fit in just one bag. He's scared, he's angry, he wants to do well too, he wants to be perfect too, it's just too much, Mari is Too Much. It's a lot, he decides, it's just a lot.

"Yeah," Basil agrees. His hand is warm on Sunny's back. "I might not get siblings, but I can be here if you need a break." A stick makes another splash in the water. "Actually, do you want to spend the night at my house? Getting some space might help. We don't have to do anything at all, and if anyone asks you're fine and need some time to yourself. Grandma can call your parents about it."

The idea rolls around in Sunny's head like a marble, swirling, plunking into _yes_ as he tilts his head. He scoots a little closer to Basil on the dock, sticks and pebbles poking his thigh. The hand on his back slides up onto his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. His throat still feels dry and tingly and his fingers itch like they did when he first started developing callouses, but he doesn't want to scream and hit and disappear. Something about this sands down all the sharpest pointiest bits of him, makes him smooth and handle-able again. Basil. Basil helps. "Okay," he says, head tilting further until it thumps into Basil's shoulder, "But can we...sit here for a while? It's nice."

"Yeah! Of course!" Basil's almost too enthusiastic, but that's nice too. Someone is enthusiastic about him, about spending time with him. Even if he's not fun to be around, even if he's depressing, even if he's annoying and can't say anything right. It's...nice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on a roll. looks more like 3 parts now. updates wont be on any kind of schedule or anything jsyk, and there aint no beta

The two boys walk back out of the park with arms occasionally bumping, Basil smiling softly to himself and Sunny staring down at the grass under his shoes. The world had been on the edge of ending, Sunny had been teetering on the edge of doing something he'd never have been able to take back. He's still tired, still sad, still mad, but Basil is offering up a refuge. His arm bumps into Basil's again. Again. It's warm, flecks of dirt caught on the fine hairs on his forearm from gardening and playing scratching against his skin. His fingers are shorter than Sunny's, his palms are smaller, his wrists are so skinny. Impulsively, Sunny reaches out and grabs one, holds it, swings it. Basil looks at him with confusion, then laughs and swings their hands harder, exaggerates the step of his walk until they're marching down the block with arms pistoning.

Luckily enough, they don't run into any other members of the group on the way to Basil's house. It's peaceful enough, just the two of them, Basil running through a laundry list of dinner ideas and books that Sunny can try while he's over. The comforting chatter drowns out the miasma that burbles at the back of Sunny's skull, sunshine piercing through rainclouds. No, like strawberry patches choking out crabgrass. Dandelions spreading in a vacant lot. Basil opens his front door and pulls him in, his pink-cheeked smile disappearing for just a moment down the hallway.

"Grandma, Sunny's staying over!" Basil's voice carries in the little house. Sunny can hear the vague, surprised reply from Basil's grandmother, muffled by the walls. Basil's probably telling her that he and his sister had a fight or whatever, can he stay, let his parents know. Was it a fight, Sunny wonders, it didn't feel like a fight. It felt like...He doesn't know. He feels like a pothole, an inconvenience, something that everyone wants fixed, something that by definition can't exist without being broken. He doesn't belong here. He should apologize to Mari for. Existing?

"Hey, we're having burgers, special for you. You gotta eat some of the side salad, but it's not that bad!" Basil is chipper and bright reappearing in the living room, his grandmother tottering out with a tired smile behind him. Neither comment on Sunny's wilted stance or red-rimmed eyes, diving right into dinner prep. "Help me set the table. The silverware's in the drawer next to the sink, I'll get the plates!"

"Don't bad-mouth the salad before he's even tried any," Basil's grandmother chastises. She pulls preshaped patties from the fridge, a pan from the lowest cupboard, spices, vegetables, buns, butter-

"Sunny doesn't like vegetables," Basil replies bluntly, plates clacking in his hands, "But he loves meat. He'll probably need two burgers." He shoots a grin at Sunny and as sick and tired and sour-stomached as he feels, he's going to eat two burgers.

"Yeah," Sunny agrees simply. Talking is hard, but he wants to try. Sometimes. Basil is trying to make him feel at home, safe, comfortable. Each plate gets a fork and a knife, though he's not sure what the knife is for if they're having burgers and salad.

It turns out that Basil's grandma cuts her burgers up because she can't chew well. As expected, he doesn't much want to eat the salad even covered in dressing until he can barely see green, but he gets enough of it down that she gives him an approving nod and lets him eat without pestering. The burgers are a little bit overcooked and his stomach feels tight after just one, but Sunny takes the second put on his plate and gets halfway through before he has to tap out. Basil gives him a knowing, thankful smile, and he takes one more bite.

"Let's see...We've got spare comforters and pillows in the linen closet," Basil's grandma muses as he and Sunny pick up plates and surreptitiously sloop leftovers into the garbage can, "The couch is a bit lumpy, but an extra quilt should make it alright. Basil, be a dear?" She sets about cleaning the dishes with a nod toward the living room, content to let them sort things out themselves.

  
Basil piles quilts and comforters up on the couch, tucking a pillow against the arm and posing triumphantly in front of the makeshift bed. His chest trembled with suppressed laughter when Sunny awards him with sarcastic applause. He's silly. He's sweet. He's cute. Basil flops back onto the couch and slaps the cushion beside him encouragingly.

"Normally I read or go through my photos before I get ready for bed. I think I've got some cards somewhere, though," Basil suggests, looking back and forth as if Sunny's routine would appear like a hologram in the air for him to follow. His eyes wander, roll, settle back on Sunny. "I'm...really boring. We don't have a lot to do around here, sorry. Like I said, though, we don't have to do anything at all. Just...make yourself at home? What do you usually do before bed?"

"Computer," Sunny answers bluntly. It's tempting to think Basil's life is simple or quaint, but it's not. It's just...different. He's got his own problems. It's immediately so very quiet now that it's just the two of them again, he can imagine that it might get crushingly lonely without the constant din of life in the background. But then again, Basil grew up without any of that. What would he know? He's not Basil, and Basil isn't him. "Do you have any scary books?"

"Um, I'm not good with scary stuff. I've got a couple mystery books?" Basil hesitates, then gets up and trails to his room. His bookshelf isn't alphabetical or genre or date, it's all his favorites at eye-level and everything else wherever. It takes him a minute, but he pulls out a couple books and sets them on his bed for Sunny to look through while he digs into his craft supplies. Looks like tonight is a photo album night, then.

There's an Agatha Christie novel, a compilation of Sherlock Holmes stories, and a few others that he recognizes as best-sellers from the bookstore. Sherlock feels too much like school reading and Agatha Christie feels kind of old-lady-ish, so--Well, why not? He picks up the Agatha Christie book and crawls onto Basil's bed, stacking the remainder by the headboard to put back later. She's got to be a popular author for a reason. Basil shuffles through polaroids on the floor next to the bed, a case of felt-tipped pens and the album beside him. He chews his lip in concentration, sandy-brown hair hiding his eyes. He hunches, putting the pictures in piles based on some unknown criteria. It feels too private, too intimate, something he's never seen Basil doing before. He averts his eyes and tries to get interested in the book in his hands.

For Basil, it's strange to have Sunny over at his house alone. If he came over, the whole gang did. Even so, Sunny's house was the real spot everyone went to. As much as he wants to be a 'good host', that's not what Sunny needs. That isn't what Sunny wants right now. Sunny needs...Only Sunny knows that, but he can try to help. He can help his best friend--they're best friends, aren't they?--get some breathing room, some thinking room. He's collected a pile of pictures with Sunny without thinking. The pictures shuffle back together with a few clumsy swipes. Sunny is absorbed in the book when he glances up to check. Now isn't the time to be whipping his camera out to take pictures, he knows, so he takes a mental snapshot and hopes he never forgets the way Sunny looks relaxing in his bed with one of his old books, all the tension drained away.

He likes all his friends, and he's grateful to Audrey for bringing him into the friend group, but he won't lie: Sunny is his favorite. Things feel natural between the two of them. He can't read Sunny's mind, but Sunny listens, leans on him, pays attention, invites him over, spends time just existing with him. Doing nothing at all together doesn't make him feel guilty like it normally might, and he doesn't feel exhausted and worn thin like one of his old shirts after. He hopes...Sunny feels the same. Or at least a little similar.

He has a few pictures picked out and pasted to pages, blurbs carefully scrawled beside them, when his grandmother ducks into the door to tell them she's getting ready for bed and not to stay up too late. Sunny gives her a nod, glances to Basil, and stretches out on the sheets before returning to reading. A cat getting comfortable. Basil smiles to himself as he puts away the album supplies, leaving the album itself open for the ink to dry. Sunny's so cute.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im kinda digging writing teeny tiny chapters, it feels like less pressure. shrug!
> 
> warning: next chapter is gonna be the horny. might raise rating? ill see what happens

"I'm going to brush my teeth," Basil announces, leisurely getting up from the floor, "I don't think we have any extra toothbrushes, sorry. You can borrow mine, though." His easy grin twitches into a panicked grimace. "Is that a weird thing to offer? Is that gross?" Sunny shrugs. It's a toothbrush. "O-oh, okay. Um...Oh, we've got floss, though. When you're ready."

Basil drifts out to brush his teeth, leaving Sunny alone in his room. He could snoop. Skimming between lines, the book lowers to the sheets. He could go floss now. Instead, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, slips himself off, scoots over to re-shelve the book, and takes a glance at the album. The gang looks through it all the time, something like a chronology of their time together. It only really existed to him as an extension of Basil, resting in his lap or his extended palm, never without the owner. There won't be anything bad there, he knows. Yet he can't and won't pry beyond the page it's lying open to. If he asks, Basil will sit and leaf through the pages and tell him his favorite stories behind every picture, ask Sunny about the ones he was part of, point out the few he'd gotten sunny to take...Sunny doesn't feel like going through them on his own.

Water sloshes in the bathroom, Basil doing his nightly routine down the hall as Sunny got up and walked to the living room. The quilts barely fit under his arms and he had to take a second trip for the pillow, but he managed to get it all into the bedroom and spread out into an impromptu futon beside Basil's bed before the faucet turned off. It'll be a little firm, but he can take it. Somehow, the thought of being all alone in the silent night on the couch without the sound of another living person in the room... Basil, damp faced, sighs in the doorway.

"Is the couch really that bad?" he asks, looking amused and crestfallen at once.

"Just wanna sleep here," Sunny replies, tossing down a corner of the top quilt.

"You can have the bed if you want," Basil offers, testing the doubled-up comforters with his foot with a concerned tilt of his head, "I can take the couch."

Shaking his head, Sunny tries to parse his feelings about it. He's never slept alone by _choice_. Not his choice. Not because of a. Fight? A fight. Mari had sleepaway camp or sleepovers, but not so often that it was something he ever really got used to; they'd never had a fight right before she'd left somewhere. Even if they disagreed about something, even if Mari had been a looming pressure all day, even if he was lying in bed thinking how feet away she must be thinking he was pathetic and annoying--What was he thinking about before? He forgot. Time to floss.

Fabric rustles and drawers clack in the room he leaves behind. Ah, he doesn't have pajamas to change into either. Well...he'll just sleep in his boxers. Basil will understand, or won't care. The sink is wet from use with a thin line of the yellow-tinged fresh daisy scented handsoap, a wet tootbrush to one side in its own skinny cup under the mirror. It's just a toothbrush. The toothpaste tube squeezes a little minty dollop onto the bristles, and the bristles scrub his teeth clean. He has his own toothbrush at home, everyone in the house has their own toothbrush, Basil's grandmother has her own toothbrush, and he's using Basil's. It could be gross. It's an emergency anti-cavity situation. Maybe it's intimate?

After rinsing the toothbrush and his mouth, he scrubs his face with the soap from the bottle boldly labeled in sharpie on painter's tape **Face Wash**. It smells vaguely like cucumbers. The terrycloth towel is new-soft and fuzzy on his eyelids, ticklish under his nose, surprisingly heavy in his hands. There are plants surrounding him on the toilet, snake plants and swiss-cheese plants and what's that one called again? Maybe it's an orchid. He washes his hands and turns the light out. For a second, it feels as if something flickers in the mirror. His pale face stares back at him in the dark, all the details smoothed into a blurry mask. Something...bad could have happened. Then.

Rough walls trail under his fingertips, guiding him through the dark back to Basil's room. Each step unwinds the gathered knot of yarn that is his stomach, the feeling receding again. Even a moment alone is too much right now. Rumination is dangerous. Basil's silhouette waves across the room, the noisy shuffle of blankets and mattress creaking announcing that he'd gotten comfortable. The path to the makeshift bed on the floor is a clear, straight line. Sunny pads through the dark until his toes meet the covers. His shorts crumple on the floor before he crawls into the cool cotton and nuzzles into the pillow. Basil is breathing three feet away. The sourness eases out of his throat.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to take the bed? We can switch-" Basil starts, but cuts himself off when Sunny sighs. The bed creaks, his hand lowering over the side of the bed to grope around blindly for Sunny's and give it a playful tug. "Then just join me on the bed! I'll scoot over, and you can tuck yourself in so you don't roll out!" His tone sounds like he's trying to make Sunny laugh, but.

Sunny wants to be held, told that he's enough, that it's okay to not be perfect, that he's likeable. If Basil means it, even a little, he'll be selfish. If it's okay, if he can take the joke seriously, if he can take a little more. Sunny squirms out of the quilts, pushes the covers of Basil's bed back, leverages himself up onto the little bed, and wiggles close until Basil scooches back into the wall with a muted thump. There's no personal space, legs brushing and Sunny settling into the warmth Basil left behind.

"Um, I, I was-If you're fine with it?" Basil struggles through, tugging his pillow to give half to each of them, "Are you comfortable?" Basil relaxes and unfurls away from the wall, the back of one hand resting against Sunny's chest and his legs sprawling up against Sunny's. Sunny's nod knocks their foreheads together, just a jarring little bump, but it startles him.

"Ah!...Yeah," Sunny whispers. Warm, minty, right under Basil's nose. Hands bump against hands under the cover, settling sunny-basil-sunny-basil in a haphazard skewed pile. Knees bump into Basil's, legs shifting under the covers. Sunny's getting comfortable, rubbing his legs together like a cricket, satisfaction radiating in spite of the darkness masking his expression. His sigh washes over Basil's face, mint again, and one hand from the pile disappears and shifts the pillow.

"G'night," Basil smiles to himself at the tiny 'mm' of agreement Sunny gives him. Sunny's not good with people by his own admission, struggles with things that are second nature to most, shy and soft-spoken, aimless passion bubbling under still waters. In spite of his inferiority complex, Basil thinks he's probably the best friend he's ever had. (Sorry Aubrey. Sorry everyone.) Sunny listens to him, talks with him, spends as much time as he likes with him doing nothing at all--His heart throbs as it crystallizes. He trusts Sunny with all his hopes and fears;he opened up the lonely space in his ribs where family lives, and Sunny slipped right in. Sunny trusts him just as much, seeking refuge when the world is Too Much and all he can handle is Existing.

Sunny is...is cute the right word? His hair is perfect even when it's messy, dark eyes like bottomless pools, calloused fingers that tell of endless hours of practice on the violin. But it's the little behaviors that really do it: The way he curls up on the couch for movies, how he crushes himself into little spaces like Mewo does, the way he cautiously waits for someone else to take the plunge before he joins a game. It took a while to learn to spot the little tells, but Sunny does smile. Muted, hidden, more in his posture than his mouth. The covers are stiflingly warm with two bodies stuffed in, inches apart. Sunny's stark black eyelashes are the faintest of outlines without the fluorescent lightbulb casting the room in bright yellow, but Basil remembers them, thick and dark in the summer sun.

He likes Sunny. He likes him. He like-likes him. He loves him. If anything is ever too much to handle, he wants to be there to stand by him until it's alright again. Would Sunny do the same? Does Sunny feel the same? Sunny's lips are scant inches away, warm and soft and inviting. Muffled, a dog barks down the street. Sunny's eyes twitch under their lids, his fingers twitching against Basil's forearm. Basil nuzzles closer, nose to nose, breathing in when Sunny breathes out. Like a waking dream, the damp, warm distance between their lips closes. Sunny's lips are as soft as they always looked, as plump as they seemed when Sunny would nibble away in frustration. The darkness flickers, two paler spots appearing.

Sunny's eyes are open.


End file.
